Rise of the Mutants
by KaiserKris
Summary: An account of the rise of the mutants from the perspectives of various important people amongst their ranks, as recollected from various important people in that tale. Every one of the chapter is related from the specific POV of a different character, and thus, reflects their direct perspective, ie there is no omniscient storyteller.
1. The Skinny Little Boy (Magneto I)

**The Skinny Little Boy**

It was falling again. Not the rain- though it had rained for most of the last week, and the damp had sent deep aches running down the boy's bones, nor was it snow- the snows would come in a month or so. No. It was ash, settling quietly over the Earth, blown from the bigger camps upwind. By the end of the day, everything would be covered in a fine layer of the stuff. The work crews would be coughing and sputtering as the stuff got into their noses and their lungs, but there was no relief.

There was no relief for anyone, except at the leisure of the Doctor.

The skinny little boy understood that his life was in the hands of the Doctor, the tall, slender man standing before him, whose dark eyes fixed the boy into a serpentine stare. He understood that the Doctor gave him more food than the others, so he was merely hungry rather than starving, that the Doctor would treat him as best he could if he fell sick. That as long as the Doctor needed him, he would not be killed. The boy knew that if he somehow disappointed the Doctor, that he may very well be killed for it.

Max Eisenhardt knew that he was lucky, compared to the others in the camp. A few of them, the Doctor's favorites, were like him, kept alive at his pleasure. He was ordered to do some work, but only enough, he imagined, to keep his muscles worked and fit- no more than a few hours of hard labour. Occasionally, the Doctor even gave his favorites sweets, mostly when he took their blood. On the days after he took blood, there would be no work at all.

But for the shuffling masses outside, they existed only to be worked until they died, or herded into the showers, or at least, that's what they said they were. The reality made him want to vomit, even as far removed from the stench as he was right now. Once, he'd been dragooned by a guard into helping the _Sonderkommando,_ to drag blue and twisted corpses from the chambers, awash in a river of blood, shit and urine. They would have forced him to pry the gold from their teeth, search their cavities for hidden treasures, cut off their hair to be made into wigs or linings, except for the arrival of the Doctor.

He still remembered that day, nearly six months ago, as if it was yesterday. He remembered seeing the thin, drawn, agonized faces. _How could I ever forget? I shouldn't. It's not right. They must be remembered. I will remember them._

And yet, a small part of Max wanted to do nothing more than to forget all of this and go to sleep and wake up back home. He would be going to school now, probably working very hard, so he could go to university like his father had. His youngest sister, Anya would be playing with her dolls or trying to get Sophie to play tea party with her. He remembered his father putting on old records and dancing with their mother after dinner or listening to the newest songs on the radio. He could still smell his father's pipe tobacco as he read the newspaper and pointed out the more important happenings to Max. And his mother, talking long hours away on the telephone with her friends, both Jews and non-Jews- certainly there were people who disliked Jews in their city, but neither Mother or Father lacked for friends.

They had been well-off, almost wealthy, in truth. It was expected that Max would attend university and become a doctor or a lawyer, though he'd always wanted to become a great scientist like Albert Einstein. Sophie and Anya could look foward to good marriages, probably with young Jewish men, though they would be far from the only Jewish girls to marry Christian boys. Mother didn't like that, though Father- Father was always more secular, would have shrugged and said that it was the way of the world.

Above their fireplace, Max remembered some of his father's most prized possessions- his helmet from the Great War, dented and scratched by bullets and shrapnel and in elegant glass cases, his Iron Crosses, First and Second Classes, won for bravery. _Father was such a proud German. He fought for the Kaiser over four years, was wounded thrice and got mentioned by name in the general's dispatches three times._ Father didn't quite fit into his old uniform anymore, but there was an old photograph of him, smiling proudly with his mother, just after their engagement. _He was recuperating from his second wound then, at Verdun. The first had been received at Tannenburg. They'd made him a lieutenant when he returned. At the end of the war, he was a captain._

The Doctor liked to pretend that he was being kind to Max by saving him from work details, by giving him the occasional sweet after he took blood, by giving him anesthetic when he had to do something more serious. The Doctor had told Max that he was marked as different from the others, from the other Jews- that he was something special and that if he was good and did what the Doctor required, that the Doctor would look after him. The Doctor had even once come to him and said, cheerfully, that he was going to give Max a girlfriend.

Max didn't want to recall what followed, but he felt that he had to- Ruth could not be forgotten, what the Doctor had made him do, could not be forgotten. He had to survive, had to _remember_ and _tell_ people about what had happened, even though he doubted people would believe him. How could anyone? At first, he'd truly thought that Ruth was willing enough, perhaps desperate for comfort in the midst of the endless hell that was their lives. But one time, he saw her away from the 'visits' that the Doctor had arranged and the haunted look she'd given him, that she'd had no other choice.

The last time that he'd seen Ruth was a few months ago and Max wondered what had happened to her- she was one of the Doctor's favorites too, perhaps he had not tired of her yet. If he had … _I will remember. Ruth. It is the least I can do. I will remember her, and what he made us do together. Maybe I will be able to find you._

 _And then what? She hates me, I'm certain. I hate myself for what happened. I should have known._ But he'd been lonely, desperately lonely and for a short moment, he hadn't felt so alone. His hands balled up into tight fists and he longed, desperately, for a face to punch. But Max knew that he was no longer that cocky young man in Breslau. It wasn't just risky to fight back when the Nazis picked on you anymore, it was suicidal. _And I must live. I need to survive and remember. And avenge, if I can. But remember, above all else._

 _Perhaps. Perhaps I can use the power myself, like the Doctor makes me when he takes over my body. He says that I should be able to, that it is only dormant. I need to try again._

Max closed his eyes for a moment, and no doubt to anyone around him, it would look like he was trying to shake off a terrible memory- but he was doing something altogether different. If he shut out everything, all the horrible memories, all the screams, the dying, the smell of decay, the sad, dead eyes of the girl the Doctor made him … if he could shut it _all_ out, he could feel something entirely different. He could feel his perception of the world around him change, to something infinitely changed from the endless death-grey of his existence, where he could escape from good and evil and life and death, where every single thing in the world was ordered perfectly into two categories.

 _Metal and non-metal._

The bed was wooden, most of the room was useless to him. _Non-Metal._ But there were a few items that were usable. The Doctor had left some tools around him on the bed. A scalpel. A mirror surrounded by good steel. A surgical saw. Max opened his eyes again and reached out with his hand, trying to summon the metallic object to him. _If he can make me use the power, maybe, somehow, I can use it myself._

His heart sank when nothing happened. Hot tears played at the corner of his eyes. "No." He managed to whisper in a voice that was shockingly hoarse.

 _I have to._ He thought of his mother and father and sisters- he had seen his father die and could only assume that his sickly mother and small sisters had perished as well. To hope was a fool's crusade, he knew the fate of his people in the hands of these butchers. _I have to._ He remembered being kicked and beaten and threatened with death, he remembered the sadistic guards who once set a dog on him. _I must._ Max remembered the impassive face of the Doctor when he took over Max's body and his mind, rooting through all of his memories and his secrets, right into the core of his very beginning.

 _I will._

The scalpel, mirror and saw hurtled off the table and towards his hand, stopping, floating in mid-air about three inches from his flesh. He then concentrated on shaping the metal again, discarding the glass portion of the mirror, and shaping the rest of the metal into a long, jagged weapon. Max grabbed the weapon from its place. It felt good in his hand, cold and hard and he imagined plunging it into the Doctor's blackened heart. Then a thought struck him. _If I can move it with my mind, shape it with my mind, I don't need to hold it._ The blade began whirring about his head like a deadly halo. He reached out with his other hand, feeling pipes amid the concrete of the infirmary where he was. Max could feel his power stretching out to those pipes, bending them, and twisting them.

The wall first shook and then shattered with explosive force as the pipes raced back towards him. There was the immediate shouting of guards, but the shock of what had happened unmanned them for a brief time. A few seconds was all that Max needed. Dropping the pipes, he pulled at their guns and ripped them out of their hands. He stood up and turned towards the hole in the wall and the guards who were frozen in terror. Max turned his gaze towards one of the guards- Dirty Hans, the sadistic guard who forced him to empty the gas chambers, the man who made the women in their huts scream.

Max pointed at him and one of the guns fired several rounds, Dirty Hans falling backwards as bits of bone and brain sprayed out of the back of his head. Max pulled the trigger on the remainder of the clip of the gun, doing his best to obliterate the man's face. The other guards remained motionless, shocked beyond all action. It was easy work to pull the triggers on them as well, though they were cleaner kills. The perimeter of the camp beckoned, not far. Freedom was only a short walk away, and who would stop him?

He stopped for a moment when he heard the sound of applause behind him, a slow clap. Max whirled around quickly, two of the guns opening fire immediately, spraying the area with bullets. When he saw that it was the Doctor, for a brief moment, he dared to have hope, that the vile, evil man was finally dead. _If I can't free Ruth, maybe at least I have avenged her. And God help me, I will find a way to destroy them all._

The brief moment of grim triumph was, however, totally obliterated by the sounds of laughter coming from what should have been the Doctor's corpse as he got up and moved towards Max with inhuman speed, his hands at the young man's throat, all of the guns and the other metal clattering to the floor. The Doctor's familiar bland face had melted away into a dark, satanic cast with chalk-white skin and featureless glowing red eyes. The Doctor, using strength that should have been impossible for a man like him actually managed to lift Max off the floor.

"Very impressive, little Eisenhardt. Very impressive indeed. But I'm afraid, nowhere near adequate. I require your service for somewhat longer, I am afraid." His grip tightened and Max desperately clutched at the Doctor's wrists, trying to make him let go. He felt the pressure building up inside him as his air supply was cut off. He struggled as hard as he could, but nothing could possibly displace his iron-hard grasp. The world seemed to explode in building pain and then, as quickly as it did, everything went black for him.

When his eyes opened again, he felt horrible pain all over and the sensation of tubes sticking into his body at several places. It took some time for anything to become clear but eventually he could tell that something terrible was happening. There was noise outside, still distant to him but clearly people were agitated. He heard the crack of guns first, then the whistling of bullets and the heavy thud of what he imagined were mortars. _The Russians._ Max tried to will himself to get up and out, not caring about the tubes clearly stuck into him. _The Russians are here. Do I hide from them or do I run and join them?_

Forcing himself into alertness he first sat up, and then started looking for the tubes to pull them out, hoping that none of them were keeping him alive. _I can't stay here. I could get flattened by guns._ The noises got louder and louder, and closer and closer, though they seemed to be made by fewer and fewer people. _Perhaps the Russians are winning._ It was then that he heard a different sound, a whistling sound, but one very different than a gun, followed by several pinging noises and a jubilant cry in a language he did not immediately recognize, but he knew wasn't Russian. _Perhaps it is a unit from another part of the Soviet Union._

He managed to pull the tubes out of him and pull himself out of bed, though he immediately stumbled and fell to the floor. He could hear more talking now, in the same … no, actually, the language did sound a little familiar. Some of the words sounded much like German, though it clearly wasn't. It struck him then like a thunderbolt. _English. They're speaking English. It's the Americans._

 _I'm going to live. They'll see what happened here. I'm going to live and I will remember. I will never forget._

Max could hear more heavy shouting, this time in German and some of what he figured was cursing from the Americans. _What I am I doing here? I can help them._ He reached out again and pushed out the infirmary wall through the pipes in it as hard as he could. He couldn't grasp the wall itself, mostly being concrete, but large chunks of wall went flying twenty, thirty, maybe even forty feet into the air, along with shards of pipe that went much further, spraying several troops and surely killing a few of them. He summoned the pipe fragments back towards him and then came out the hole in the door again.

He heard the whistling of bullets towards him and instinctively threw his hands out, inadvertently dropping the pipe fragments and also, to his utter amazement, _stopping the bullets in mid-flight._ The guards continued to fire, but every round they fired at him was stopped as well, hovering, spinning in mid-air, held as if by an invisible net. His eyes opened wide in astonishment.

 _How powerful am I?_

But soon his jaw set in grim determination and he tried to reach out with his power and push the bullets back the way they came, as hard as he could, faster, he thought, than they had been shot out of the guns to begin with, judging by the sickening ease with which the hail penetrated helmets and flesh and even the siding of an armoured vehicle. He reached out again, to the vehicle itself this time and, gritting his teeth, tugged at it, trying to lift it up. He could feel a burning pain through his entire body, but surely enough, the armoured vehicle lifted up into the air, uncovering terrified soldiers.

"No more!" He screamed, the only thing he could think to say as the heavy vehicle came crashing down on them. Those that were not crushed underneath it scattered and ran. He slumped against the wall, exhausted, looking towards the other side where he saw a small group of very unusually dressed soldiers looking at him.

"No English." He managed to gasp out. "German. Polish. A little French." He tried speaking in those languages successively.

"I know a little French too." The one man, dressed in a gaudy outfit in the colours of the American flag said as he walked towards him. "We're … we're not here to hurt you."

"Nice trick with the vehicle, kiddo." His companion, a short, scruffy-looking man said, in a French that was both heavily accented and far more fluent. "You one of the Englishman's lab rats?"

Max nodded slowly, assuming that they meant the Doctor. "Yes."

The man with the ridiculously bright uniform spoke again, in his much more halting French. "We can take you with us. You'll be safe, son." Max wanted to yell at him for daring to call him 'son' but one look at the man's face and something about it clearly suggested that he could be trusted. Max took a few breaths and nodded quietly. "Okay. I will go with you."

"An' quickly at that. The Krauts are gonna be bringin' up more forces soon and HYDRA's sniffin' around these parts. Not even you can handle the whole Wehrmacht, kiddo." The short, scruffy man looked at him, lighting up a cigar. "Think you got it in you to pull that place down? Make it easier to stop `em from using that lab again."

"Nothing … nothing would make me happier." Max replied. _I will remember._ He then stopped for a moment. "We need to find the Doctor. Your Englishman. He cannot get away- he can't."

"He's already gone, son." The bright blue man replied. "But I promise you, we will do whatever we can to find that man and bring him to justice."

"If you find him." Max replied, haltingly, gazing into the far taller man's eyes with all the fury and passion he could. "Kill him. And pray there is a Hell, or there is no justice in the universe."

The tall man in the bright blue looked like he wanted to say something for a moment but then thought better of it. The short, scruffy man seemed to understand better. _He's seen things too, I know it._ The truth of it, however, was that Max didn't want them to find the Doctor. He wanted to find the Doctor himself and tear him apart, limb from limb. He wanted to hear the Doctor scream, scream the name of the people he'd killed and tormented, to cry out Ruth's name, to cry out Max's own name.

He took a deep breath and walked about twenty feet away from the building, the laboratory-infirmary-prison that he had been kept in for- Max didn't know precisely how long, but he was guessing it was nearly two years and reached out towards it with his hand. He closed his eyes and felt the conduits and pipes, the bits of metal inside the concrete, by the masonry. He raised his arms in a grand gesture, as if composing a symphony and then opened his eyes and sent his arms crashing towards the ground, flattening the building utterly and then sucking it into the earth as the building collapsed into the basement and into the bomb shelter below.

The tall man in the blue and the short man in a scruffy uniform looked at each other and then at the gaping crater.

"Can we leave? I don't want to be here anymore." Max's gaze turned back towards them.

"Yeah, kid, we can go." The short, scruffy man replied after a pause.


	2. The Scientist (Charles I)

**The Scientist**

New York City, 2010:

"It's quite a thing that you're about to do, Charles. Do you think you're really ready?" Moira McTaggart asked Charles Xavier, sipping a glass of champagne, graciously provided by their hosts.

"The world needs to know this, Moira. You know that. How much longer can we wait? Besides, someone is going to make the announcement sooner or later." Charles replied, taking a sip of his own drink- a double of scotch, neat, feeling the warmth slide down his throat into his belly. _I could probably do with another three or four of these, but that would be dangerous. It's harder to control my powers when I've been drinking._

"You know that I don't ever think the world is ready. But you may be right- there's not likely going to be a better time to tell everyone coming.

Whatever I do think of the world, though, I do know one thing, Charles-" Moira gently plucked the glass from Charles' hand. "You've got to be _sober_ when you're telling the world that mutants are real. Nobody's going to believe you if you're swaying on the lecturn." She set it aside. "It's not like you to be this nervous anyway. You've been through much worse in your life, really. It's only scientists and a few reporters out there, not the President, the Queen of England and the Pope."

Charles knew there was more to it than just that, that Moira hated to see _anyone_ drink more than a few, could barely stand to see anyone visibly intoxicated. He understood- her experiences with Joe had been terrible, and she was right. He was letting his nerves get to him already. He would have to deal with the inevitable explosion from the press gallery from his announcement. It would make setting up the Xavier Institute a little more complicated, though it was destined to be difficult anyway.

 _It isn't, after all, every day that one gets to publicly announce that mutants with superpowers live amongst us._

"We need to be able to control the message, Moira, as much as we can. Or the truth is going to come out from people who are afraid, even hateful. We need to be on top of this, to reassure people." Charles took a breath. It had all seemed far easier before they were actually here, at the World Genetics Conference. "Besides, if nothing else, there may be a Nobel Prize for you in it. Which would make getting funding for your research much easier."

"Nobel Prize for _us_ , Charles." Moira replied. "But we both know it's not really about that, is it? You're still thinking of opening the school at your big old Mansion in New York." She sighed. "Just when I was thinking that maybe you'd settle in Scotland for good." She put on a good brave face, but Charles knew that she wasn't precisely happy that he was going away, though he knew she accepted it was virtually inevitable.

Charles frowned a little- it was a sad truth of their marriage thus far that it had been marked by as much distance as by togetherness, and establishing the school was unlikely to do anything for that. Moira was bonded to Muir Island by her work and by looking after the handful of wards she had acquired, mostly mutants who had little hope of easy integration into wider society. He had briefly flirted with establishing the school there, but he knew it would never work, it was too isolated, too difficult to access- and he didn't want the Institute to be overly segregated.

Moira reached over to him and placed her hand on his, giving it a little squeeze. "We'll get through it, though. We always do, don't we?" She offered a small smile and bent down to kiss him, long and sweet. "No matter how much we're apart, we'll always be together. Now and forever. You couldn't be rid of me if you wanted."

"Nor you of me. Even if you wanted a handsome young boyfriend with a full head of hair." _Who could walk._

"Charles." Moira looked at him. "After so many years, you still think that's something that bothers me, that you're in a wheelchair?" Her lips curled downwards in a frown. "What happened, happened. At least you're _alive."_ Green eyes fixed his in an intense gaze.

"Moira's right, Charles." Erik Lehnsherr smirked faintly as he walked into the room, alongside his young children, Wanda and Pietro. Sitting quietly in the corner already was Charles' adopted son, Scott and a young woman he'd been working with for some years, Jean Grey. Erik moved over to where Moira was, kissing her cheek lightly and then moved to take a seat near Charles. "You should be excited. This is the moment your life thus far has been building towards, has it not?"

"Of course, you're both right." Charles replied. "Scott, some water, please? I should get myself ready for the presentation." He wheeled himself over to his desk and took out his notes, gathering them up and examining them again. "You all do understand the import of what will happen tonight, yes?" He spoke directly to the young people in the room- Erik and Moira were already well aware of it. "After tonight, superhuman genetic mutation will be public knowledge. It is significantly more likely that you may be identified somehow in the future as a mutant."

"Great. Another reason for people to hate me." Pietro rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a _great_ idea, just great." Wanda turned towards him with a glare and sharply dug into him with an elbow to the ribs.

"I trust your judgement." Scott piped up, breaking his usual quiet. "Besides, it'll make organizing the school easier, won't it?" He got up and went over to the water cooler to get some cold water, which he gave to Charles. "And you're right, this way maybe we have some control over the message."

"You've a much more faithful son than I do, Charles." Erik noted with a certain wry amusement, before his tone turned more serious. "But I cannot say that I'm … happy about this. This announcement is only going to trigger panic, Charles. Would it not be better to open the school secretly for the time being? Gather our numbers, before making ourselves known?"

"We've had this discussion before, Erik." Charles cut him off. "This is not about tactics and strategy, it is about the right of people to know the truth, and our obligation to make sure they get the _actual_ truth. I do not doubt that there will be some fear. But this way perhaps we can manage it and make people understand that, in all the truly important ways, mutants are just like humans."

"Of course, Charles." Erik replied coolly, in a tone that clearly said that he was less than thrilled about the idea. _I don't like to proceed so boldly without your full support, old friend,_ Charles thought, _but it seems this time I must. We have little other choice._

"Why are we all looking so grim, anyway?" Moira suddenly exclaimed. "Heavens, we should be celebrating. Charles has been working towards this for so long and a discovery like this, could mean the Nobel Prize."

"It is a noteworthy scientific accomplishment." Wanda noted a little absently.

Erik took a small breath and sighed, nodding. "Of course. We should all be very proud of Charles and his incredible work discovering the truth behind the strange and wonderful abilities … most of us exhibit." He looked over towards Moira again for a moment and then back at Charles. "You know that, despite all our disagreements, I am honored to be your friend. And proud to be here, at such an incredible moment in your scientific career."

"Thank you." Charles replied sincerely. "All of you."

When Charles thought about it, it was rather amazing, all that had happened to bring them to this particular place, the years of struggle for recognition and funding, but even more importantly of finding out the truth about himself and people around him, people he'd become very close to. For most of his life, Charles was convinced that he was completely alone in his superhuman powers- until he'd met Erik. It was then that he became convinced that there was something behind the amazing powers that the both of them manifested.

That particular road had taken him down some very strange places in his life- and it had given him the chance to meet some very unique and amazing people that he would never have been able to, otherwise. Hank McCoy would be arriving in a few minutes- his ever-faithful research assistant, one of the most promising students he'd ever had in his life. Both Warren and Bobby were back at his mansion in Westchester, which would soon reopen as the Xavier Institute.

Charles looked over at Jean Grey for a moment and she smiled back at him. He remembered well when he'd first gone to see her, virtually comatose from the immense trauma of psychically experiencing the death of her best friend. It had taken years for her to recover, but she had amazed everyone and become an accomplished young woman, increasingly confident with not only her powers, but her other gifts. Whatever Jean decided to do with her future, Charles knew that she'd play a vital role in the future of the mutant people.

Next to her was a young man who was even dearer to Charles's heart- Scott Summers, a young man whom he'd found in an orphanage in Nebraska, of all places. Unlike Jean, Scott didn't have a family, didn't have anywhere to go to, for all of Charles's search. Ultimately, Charles had made the decision to adopt Scott as his own son, just as Moira had adopted Rahne- their son and daughter, in an admittedly unusual but very close family. Charles wouldn't have it any other way.

"Professor, I hope you'll excuse my being late, but the traffic is simply _dreadful._ Who would have thought that New York City would be terribly busy on a Friday evening?" Hank McCoy laughed as he came in. "I really had intended to come earlier. I honestly swear."

"It's quite all right, Hank." Charles laughed softly. "And please, you can call me Charles. We've worked together far too long for you to keep calling me Professor Xavier as if you were a freshman." He wheeled over to where Hank was and took his hand, which Hank shook firmly but carefully, minding his strength. "To tell the truth, you should be up there with Moira and I. You've contributed nearly as much to this as we have."

"Heavens, no." Hank immediately blurted out. "This is your moment- yours and Moira's. I wouldn't dare think to intrude upon it. I'm simply honoured to have been able to assist you in whatever humble way I could."

Charles could perceive in the corner of his eye, Wanda rolling her eyes at Hank's slightly ostentatious show of humility. _Just like her father,_ Charles thought with some amusement. Pietro, on the other hand, had a far more sensitive, mercurial temperament and was obviously bored and was not bothering to hide it. Personally, he would have allowed Pietro to stay at home, but Erik had insisted on bringing him here. _Hopefully this whole thing isn't too long, or Pietro may simply run out the door._ And once he started running, there was absolutely nothing any of them could do to catch him if he didn't want to be caught.

 _How are you doing, Hank? Truly._ Charles projected his thoughts towards Hank. He knew the young man was particularly sensitive about his seemingly advancing genetic mutation.

 _It's beginning to get difficult to shave it off, Pr- Charles. I don't know if I'll be able to do so for much longer. I suppose I shouldn't, but you know how it is._ He could feel Hank's hesitation and his fear. Charles knew that Hank had a lot to lose, between his rising professional prospects and his girlfriend, whom he was quite certain knew nothing about Hank's mutant status. Something that he hoped Hank would be honest about soon, but he couldn't blame him too much. It was a long time before he could tell Moira truly about his superhuman abilities.

It was something that Charles knew that he had to keep in mind in the coming days and months, that this announcement was going to have a very real impact on the everyday lives of many thousands of people. The revelation of the existence of mutants was going to directly affect people he loved personally, but also countless strangers. Charles knew that there would be fear directly associated with this announcement, that there was a possibility that people would lash out in hatred.

 _Is it truly right for me to be making this announcement? Is it fit for me to be doing this?_

But then he considered the other side of it- people around the world would suddenly have something to explain their strange and terrifying abilities, something to identify as, and the possibility of meeting others like them. That these people possessed a genetic variation rather than some curse or some supernatural power would make it easier to encourage an informed public debate. He could create the Institute and recruit far more openly than if he was forced to operate secretly. People could even find him out.

"Professor Xavier?" One of the assistants hired by the Genetics Conference entered. "Five minutes until we're ready to go."

"Thank you." Charles replied graciously, though he was slightly surprised when Moira settled herself comfortably on his lap and kissed the top of his head.

"You're going to be wonderful, Charles." She smiled warmly at him and bent down a little to kiss him. _And then the two of us can celebrate, yes? It's been much too long, Charles Francis Xavier. I've missed you._ Moira was careful not to think too much more out loud, for risk that Jean might pick it up inadvertantly, which was the last thing that anyone needed.

"Might be a good idea to go over that speech again." Wanda noted dryly, clearly just as bored as Pietro.

Charles couldn't help but laugh. "You're probably right." _On the other hand, Moira, I really can't be bothered to ask you to move. I like you where you are._ He craned up a little to kiss her again. _I can barely believe that this is actually happening. In five minutes, it's all going to be out in the open._

More privately, he couldn't help but wonder what the full implications of that were going to be.


	3. The Awkward Heir (Scott I)

**The Xavier Institute for the Gifted, late August 2011:**

"How does it feel to be part of the first senior class at the brand-new Xavier Institute for the Awesomely Gifted?" Bobby Drake asked Scott with a big grin on his face. The younger mutant, a sophomore, had decided to wear a fearsomely bright novelty suit to the opening party. It was one of a very, very few moments where Scott Summers was glad that he could only see things in shades of red.

"I think it's silly to be talking about cohorts like that when there's only a few of us." Scott replied evenly. "Five right now. We're going to be picking up some more students before September this year, but we're not going to top out at any more than a dozen." He went over to get himself some punch. "People seem happy enough, though. Curious. But I wonder how long it's going to last before they realize that this really is a mutant school in their neighbourhood and that we aren't going to be going anywhere. This isn't intended to be a place where we disappear into."

Bobby shook his head with a laugh. "Scott. Relax. Dude, come on. This is our little moment here. Let's leave the angst for another day when, I don't know, Professor Lehnsherr is giving us another rant on how people will never _really_ accept us."

Scott couldn't help but grin a little bit at the thought, though it was a rueful one and soon died on his lips. It was little secret that Professor Lehnsherr was less than fond of all the developments that had occurred since his father had made the announcement about the existence of genetic mutation. His father wouldn't readily admit it, but he knew that their professional relationship and personal friendship had been placed under considerable strain. Though, at least, he had made an appearance here- stealing the spotlight as he was so inclined to do.

"You know, for all Professor Lehnsherr can be a huge grump and basically professional pessimist, that guy _really_ knows how to dress." Bobby looked over again.

"I guess? I don't really know." Scott shrugged and looked over. Privately, he had some suspicions that Drake wasn't really appraising his fashion sense so much, but it was not something he was going to bring up unless Bobby mentioned something. In any case, he was pretty sure that Bobby would confide in Hank a long time before he mentioned anything to Scott.

There _was,_ however, something undeniable about the man, Erik Lehnsherr, that even Scott couldn't help but notice. It was the worst of all bad puns to say that the man had a magnetic personality, but it would have been an accurate description as well. He had an uncanny, almost eerie influence on people- whatever emotional energy Lehnsherr brought to a scene very often became the dominant mood of the room. Sometimes, it was almost as if he possessed people.

His father had a certain charisma as well, but Charles had always operated on a more intellectual level- his presence tended to be calming, rather than electrifying. When his father spoke in front of a large audience, it felt strangely intimate, like he was speaking, in confidence, to you alone. It was an impressive gift that translated particularly well in television interviews, alongside a wry sense of humour that few people seemed to give his father adequate credit for.

 _Two very charismatic, strong leaders. If they'd just work things out, there isn't a thing in the world they couldn't do, and that's the plain truth._

 _Are you thinking again? Haven't I told you about thinking too much?_

Scott turned around immediately to see that Jean had practically snuck up behind him- she could have tapped him right on the shoulder had she not decided to speak to him telepathically first. _God, I am distracted. That would've got me killed in the Danger Room._

 _Good thing we're not there, are we?_

Jean sidled up to where he was, smiling softly at him. "Relax. It's a party, Scott, not a training simulation." She quickly looked him up and down. "You look nice. New suit?"

"Uh, yeah, new suit. Gotta look good for the big day." Scott decided that if she was allowed to get a bit of a look at him, then the reverse was fair game too. Though actually doing it made him a little weak in the knees and made his mouth decidedly dry. _Wow._

"You too. You look great, Jean." Scott managed to stammer out, though what he really wanted to say is that she was the most beautiful woman in the room by far, in a room that had more than its fair share of pretty girls. He was fairly sure her dress was in some shade of green, though his glasses rendered everything in different shades of red. But even with his enforced colour blindness, he could definitely appreciate the way that the dress accentuated her curves. It was almost impossible for him not to stare, but he managed to bring his attention back to her face, rather than to the faint hint of cleavage or the curve of her hip. "Incredible, even." He managed to add.

Jean laughed softly. "Thanks." She was quiet for a moment and Scott immediately thought that he'd gone too far, stared too long, or that he'd done something else wrong. _I always do._

"Jean, _wow._ You look absolutely incredible. Stunning." Warren immediately swooped in, not literally on his wings, but seemingly gliding on his feet. "I don't know what these other people are thinking, but there is a huge dancefloor out there that is _calling_ to us." Warren extended his hand towards her. "May I have the pleasure?"

"Sure." Jean smiled at him and went off onto the dancefloor, though she looked back at Scott for a moment before her and Warren started dancing. Scott sighed harshly. _Just about typical._

"... Jesus Christ. Look at them." Wanda rolled her eyes. "Well, no. Look at _him._ Prince Charming himself, off to save the fair maiden." She looked at Scott. "You know she isn't really into him, right? I mean, I'm more likely to get to second base with her tonight than he is. But she's too nice to just openly _say_ that to him."

Scott sighed a little harshly. "Wanda."

Wanda sighed harshly, in near perfect imitation of him. "Scott." She looked over at him. "Warren's a fucking idiot and Jean knows it. Maybe he's not the only idiot around here, though." She looked significantly at him.

"Yeah, probably." Scott shrugged and then looked at Jean and Warren twirling about on the dancefloor, at Warren's hand on her waist and her arms around his neck. He felt his hands involuntarily clench up into fists. _But it's not that simple. I can't even look her in the eyes, not really. Besides, Warren's rich, handsome and can fly._ "I'd dance with her, I guess, but I'm not very good at it."

"Well, if that's the problem, Mr. Summers- you could have simply said so." Wanda took his hand. "Allow me to show you a few things about ballroom dancing." She dragged him out on the dancefloor before he had any time to protest.

"Wanda, I mean, thanks, but it's fine, you don't have to-"

"Yes. Clearly I do." Wanda's green eyes flashed with much the same intensity that people so often saw in her father's. "Now … put your hand right here." Wanda guided her hand to her waist, just above the curve of her hip. "I'm going to put my arms around your neck. This is practice. You need to be able to look her in the eyes. Small talk is okay, but it's not about having a conversation, it's about sharing a moment." Wanda looked up at him. "There's nothing complicated about what they're doing. Just don't step on my feet. You'll be tempted to stare at her chest looking down like that, but don't."

"Right." Scott managed to mumble, inadvertently getting a glimpse of Wanda's generous cleavage, emphasized by the pentacle necklace she wore.

"And don't stare at _mine._ Perv." Wanda laughed, the most genuine moment of amusement he'd seen in some time. "But you know what I mean now, right? Hard. Trust me. _Trust me, I know._ " She grinned almost maliciously. "I've seen them."

"Wanda!" Scott actually shouted out loud, though he was stopped by a subtle kick from her foot. "So, we sway to the music, I don't stare at inappropriate places, lots of eye contact … what else."

"You don't want your first kiss, probably, to be on a public dance floor in front of your Dad, right? I mean, Uncle Charles would be _so_ proud, but I imagine you'd want a little privacy. So, when the music is winding down a little, you want to lean in close and ask if you can talk, privately." Wanda looked up at him. "Just tilt your head down and not … quite whisper it into her ear, but make sure it's for her ears alone. And for the love of god, make sure you're absolutely _minty._ Because bad breath is going to kill you. Absolutely. Stone. Dead."

"Good to know." Scott replied, feeling himself blushing what he imagined was a pretty deep shade of red.

"You're not half bad, you know." Wanda smiled faintly after a moment. "More than good enough to ask Jean for a dance after this song is over. Because if you don't? I will. And I'm not making _any_ promises about what happens after that."

"... really?" Scott asked nervously.

"Of course not, Scott." She looked at him seriously for a moment. "I absolutely _love_ fucking with you, but I'm not going to do anything to ruin something really important to you. We're as good as family. I'm sorry, but we're stuck together." She smiled again, more sweetly than she usually did. "One last piece of advice. Be you. She loves that." She stepped away and nudge him a little. "Go."

Scott made himself try to look as casual as possible, walking up to Jean as the music ended, trying not to look like the nervous wreck that he was sure he was on the inside. He took a breath and managed his best smile as he walked up to where Warren and Jean were, chatting after the dance.

"Hey Jean, Warren." Scott managed to say, without messing anything up, thankfully. "Jean, I was wondering if you might, you know, like to have the next dance? If it's not already all filled up, of course." _That was terrible. Terrible. No wonder you don't have any luck with women, Scott._

"I think I can shuffle around a few names on my dance card, sure." Jean teased softly and walked over closer to Scott, who extended his hand to take her out a little further onto the dancefloor. He tried his best to relax as he settled his one hand on her waist, but even that small contact felt electric, her warmth radiating through the thin material of the dress. The music began again and they started dancing, slowly.

Surprisingly enough, Scott didn't find it nearly as hard not to stare inappropriately as he might have thought- her eyes, even slightly obscured as they were by his optic visor, were more than captivating enough for him. And that soft, sweet smile? The one that came so naturally to Jean? He could feel his own mouth curve upwards, as if under some spell. How could he not smile? He was dancing with Jean Grey, after all.

Soon enough, Scott became aware that Jean was moving closer to him, until hardly anything at all was keeping them apart. To his very real surprise, it didn't feel remotely as embarrassing as he thought it might. _It feels right, actually._

The happy moment, though, seemed to draw to a close far too quickly as he could hear the music start to die down. _Talk to her,_ he could practically hear Wanda saying in his head, _take her out to the balcony and tell her how you feel._ Taking a deep breath, he got ready to speak, to take his heart in his hands and finally say something about how she felt, but just as he was about to ask her, he could hear the system switching on. _Damn it._

 _It's okay. We'll talk soon,_ Jean's soft, sweet psychic voice floated into his mind as she went up on tiptoes to softly kiss his cheek. "We should listen, though. It's a big day for us all. Soon we'll be students at the world's first mutant academy."

"Hell of a thing." Scott murmured in agreement as he went beside Jean, a little surprised when she made no particular move to part from him or to let go of his hand. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Wanda looking at them. Their eyes met briefly and she waggled her eyebrows. Pietro, next to her, was looking as sulky and bored as ever.

Scott turned his attention, however, to the stage at the front, where his father wheeled himself in, unassumingly next to a lecturn that had been specially made for him. He didn't precisely command attention quite the same way that Professor Lehnsherr did, but people still stopped what they were doing to listen to him. When he spoke, Scott knew, he often spoke fairly softly and people found themselves going into a respectful hush to listen.

"Ladies and gentlemen, students, friends, thank you one and all for coming here. It's my honour and pleasure to welcome you all to the Xavier Institute for the Gifted. In less than one month, we will be opening our doors to gifted young people from around the country, and indeed, the world. People with extraordinary talents but also very significant needs. My good friend and co-headmaster Dr. Erik Lehnsherr will be going through a presentation showing the specific features of the school shortly, but first I want to speak about why this school is necessary.

In the time since proof was presented of the existence of superhuman genetic mutation at the World Genetics Conference, the world has reacted with great uncertainty, even fear. I'm afraid to say, that there have been incidents of violence- both by non-mutants upon mutants and a few by mutants themselves. The world is, sad to say, a dangerous place for a mutant to live in. This school will provide young mutants with the opportunity to develop their abilities in a safe and welcoming atmosphere, and allow lonely young men, women and others the opportunity to meet people like them, many of them for the first time.

This school is specifically intended to be a sanctuary for these individuals, but at the same time, I have no intentions to segregate mutants from non-mutants entirely. The academic curriculum and training offered here will be supplemented by community work. Additionally, Empire State University will be offering courses, both on the physical site of the university and through distance education for those students who qualify for them. Students here will learn how to use their abilities, mutant and otherwise for the betterment of society, to become better citizens, of their countries and of the world."

Scott noticed then that Jean had leaned her head on his shoulder while she continued to listen to Charles speak. He put an arm around her, unable not to smile. _He's worked so hard for this. Maybe dreams really do come true._ He looked over at Jean and his smile turned into a shy little grin, which was met with a warm smile of her own.


End file.
